A Bitter Melody: The Tale of Ragnböurg, Part I

 The daughters of the house of Beorn, born along the Anduin under the long shadows of the Mirkwood eaves, have never been called fair for their thick skin and wiry hair; which more often then not hangs at great lengths about their shoulders; frayed at the hems and knotted as it will. But it is well known that all Beorn's daughter are strong, lively, and fierce, even as the blood that flows in their veins.

My story is not one that may be related without some quiet remorse, but it is one I can justify to relate in that I have no real regret. Trial and error was the doom from the beginning, and bountiful mistakes were made. But I know more about life now than I once did, and I won't blame myself for stumbling on a highway none can tread without falling.

 My tale began when I took a blade I crafted long ago and cut the long threads that had been the comfort of my shoulders since childhood. 
I was a woman of twenty years, the only daughter of my father Gudbrand, the son of Hallbjörn, the son of Hildreth who was a daughter of Beorn the Great Chief. And from this lineage of nobility I descended, to become a wayfarer in the lands of men....

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In my youth I dwelt in the mountains overlooking the Vale of the River Anduin. I grew with my brother under the roof of our father, and learned the essential skills that profited our people's way of living. I learned to plant roots and harvest herbs, to craft and mend clothes, and to cure wounds and diseases - which were greatly common in some months and seasons. My brother, Bodvir, learned his first love for the ways of a healer there as we tended to the wild beasts that lived as our neighbors and friends. We reaped the crafts of the bees and the flocks and herds who imparted kindly to sustain us, and we were happy to be unwise in those days.

Beorn's Hall by J.R.R. Tolkien

 I recall many fond memories had in the months of Tribal Gathering, when our father Gudbrand would take we two children down the mountain to visit our cousin's kindred at Chief Grimbeorn's Lodge. The smoke that filled the great hall and the smells of the feast hung so thickly in the air that every emotion contrary to mirth and gaiety were crowded out of the heart and soul of everyone who entered therein. There was a warmth brought about and a feeling that set our hearts at ease when the sounds of laughter and the voices of family made merry and cheerful together.

     Children gallivanted under tables and around the legs of adults from one end of the hall to the other. They went unhindered by their matured peers who, knowing of their safety, were content to let the restless roam. Even the grave-faced chiefs and elders were at peace with the noise, content to ignore or else conceal their own hidden delight at the boisterous amusement of the young.

      I was seated by my brother and many of our cousins near our matrons and patrons on one such day, as we spoke in uplifted and hearty tones. Those who had been my playmates in the activities of youth were now my companions: men of bold-brow and dauntless chin among deep-eyed women whose cheeks were beautifully browned by their vigorous work under the Vale's noonday sun. All of us had grown to have a place among the adults of the tribe, but we still felt too full of life and apt to become bored when the conversation took a turn toward the future that we did not spend our time long in ripened company. They who knew and took greater interest in the topic were happy to discuss matters of union and posterity with every hint that we, ourselves, were some subject of conversation. But we would find ourselves idle among them, and therefore had often turned an invested interest in the mirth of the children and the serious mutterings of the elders.

      It was at this time of quiet interest that I overheard a word imparted between the greater chiefs concerning lands westward, and I felt to pardon myself from my cousins and slip out of the hall unnoticed. I stepped out into the twilight of that night, and I remember that the evening was warm with the smell of the woodland trees coming in over the hedge. The bee families where bringing in the last of their daily harvest and the air was beginning to grow quiet in the absence of their lively thrum... Stars had already appeared in the eastern sky and all around me the world darkened at a quickening pace. Thus, it was not long before I was traveling through the black of night under the mighty trees of the Vale. The night-song of the creeping creatures and the sparse pools of moonlight were as my only company, though I went on for miles to climb the Great Carrock and there tarried for a season.

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The cold winds were fierce in the high crags that winter, nonetheless our ancestors came from these mountains and instilled in us their resilient blood. While the anger of the giants shook the peaks and snow cascaded from the skies, the children of Beorn endured. Many feet made our covering a thick blackness of ice and snow, yet with the rising of the sun we broke free onto the white plains and resumed our journey west.

I was in company with seven others sent as emissaries to the lands of men. We passed over the Misty Mountains together into the hill country of the west. We were then obliged to bid farewell to each other and take our path in many threading roads. I will never forget the day of our parting when I looked on the brave faces of my cousins for the last time.

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Ragnböurg: A Decision to Help Rescue, the Might to Save.  

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